


The Other Side of the Dial Tone

by yikescaninot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But Vague Ending, Heavy Angst, Implied Character Death, M/M, Maybe not!, SO, They're married!, winkwonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/pseuds/yikescaninot
Summary: Kuroo looks forward to spending his five-year anniversary with his husband, who seems to be running late.





	The Other Side of the Dial Tone

It had been raining for the better part of the week. As much as Tetsurou didn’t mind the rain, he did mind that it was happening on the weekend of his anniversary. All forecasts had predicted a sunny weekend, so he had made an itinerary—an _ itinerary! _—for the three days he and Daichi both had off together. Mother Nature had no remorse for how rare of an occurrence that was, or for the fact that they should have been celebrating five years of marriage. 

He looked up from a heavily-stained piece of paper in front of him—a recipe Daichi’s mom had given him in secret the last time they visited—to look at the clock on the opposite wall. If he started the dish now, then it should be prepared just in time for Daichi to get home from work. 

Absent-mindedly, he reached for the remote he’d set on the counter, eyes rereading the recipe to commit it to memory, and turned on the television for background noise. The evening news had started a little while ago—left on the channel from when Daichi had watched the morning news before work (the old man)—and he listened to a pitifully optimistic newscaster announce that the rain should stop by tonight. 

The ink on the paper had bled and faded over time, the page itself stained many times over and wrinkled by the hands that had held it. It was Daichi’s favourite dish growing up, according to his mother, and the recipe had to be followed _ exactly _since it wasn’t a “real” dish, just something one of the grandparents had thrown together and had passed down. Thankfully following an exact procedure was sort of his forte, so he rolled up his sleeves and jumped right into prep-work. 

He listened to the newscast discussing sports. It might have been baseball, but it certainly wasn’t volleyball, so he didn’t really pay attention as he carefully added pieces of beef to the skillet. 

On the wall behind him, the clock ticked quietly. It was some ugly cat-shaped thing that Daichi had brought home one day, unable to restrain his laughter at Tetsurou’s face as he opened the box.

“_ It looks just like you, Tetsu! I _ had _ to get it,” _Daichi had wheezed, bracing himself against the counter with that full-bodied laugh that Tetsurou loved so much. 

At the memory, he looked up at the clock. It was still the ugliest damn thing he had ever seen, but Daichi loved it, so that day he had dutifully climbed on top of a chair and hung it on the wall above their small dining table. According to the small hands (_ whiskers _) of the clockface, Daichi should be home any minute. 

Tetsurou quickly tidied up the kitchen, washing the few tools he had used for prep and putting them away before he set the table and plated their food. He hadn’t had a chance to change after work, still wearing the dress pants and soft grey button-up shirt he had put on that morning, but with any luck, he wouldn’t be wearing them too much longer after dinner so instead he glanced to the clock once more, then settled in to his usual chair by the window. He picked up the library book he’d been reading and flipped to his bookmark (a movie stub from last weekend), settling back into the story with the ease of a conversation with an old friend while he waited.

Five minutes, then ten, and soon half an hour had passed after the time his husband usually got home. The newscast had changed on the screen, now showing a disgruntled looking man out on location beside a building that looked eerily like the one a few doors down from Daichi’s work. The volume had been turned down while he read, but he could make out something about out-of-code wiring and the rain. 

With a frown, he replaced the bookmark in between the pages and searched for his phone, locating it back on the kitchen counter beside the recipe. He must have left it on silent as there was a missed call and a voicemail from Daichi, timestamped for seventeen minutes ago. 

He unlocked the phone and before he could do anything else, an incoming call filled his screen. Daichi’s contact picture brought a smile to his face. Daichi hated it almost as much as Tetsurou hated the clock, but the understanding was that as long as one stayed, so would the other. Besides, what was wrong with Daichi’s sleeping face? Drool was natural. So was the insane bedhead and the pillow creases in his cheek. God, he loved his husband. 

“Sawamura Daichi, I hope you’re aware of the time,” Tetsurou chided without any real heat to his words. He leaned his hip against the counter, watching the rain fall onto the potted plants on their small—much too small—balcony. 

There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line, before a small huff of laughter. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Tetsu.” 

“You can make it up to me tonight. Food’s getting cold; will you be home soon?” It was a lie. The food was already cold, but he didn’t mind reheating it if Daichi was on his way. There was another moment of silence. “Daichi?” 

“I’m here. I’m still here. I, uh, I might be a bit late, Tetsu. Think you can wait for me?” 

“Always, Dai. What’s going on? You sound out of breath. Was the elevator broken again?”

Daichi chuckled, but the sound of it was off, and underneath it all, Tetsurou could hear water sloshing around. 

“What’s going on, Daichi?” 

The reporter on the television had moved locations again, now standing in front of a gathering crowd watching emergency personnel entering— 

Tetsurou gripped his phone tightly, keeping it pressed against his ear and listened to what he now could recognize as laboured breathing.

“_ —not looking hopeful for the people at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Unknown whether there was tampering done to the building itself or if it was a flaw in construction as is common in these old buildings, but with the excessive rainfall draining poorly on the roof, officials speculate that it leaked into the casing around the drive unit and shorted out the circuitry controlling the motor. We’re still waiting on the rescue crew to break through the basement wall to reach the cabin of the elevator and those trapped inside.” _

“Daichi, when will you be home?” 

“Will you tell me about your day, Tetsu?” 

“_Daichi_,” Tetsurou nearly pleaded, his eyes focused on the television screen as pictures of people he recognized as Daichi’s coworkers appeared on the side of the screen. “Where are you?” When Daichi’s picture appeared at the bottom of the list, it felt like all of the air had been forced out of his body. “Dai—”

“Tetsu, please? Tell me about your day.” Daichi’s voice was softer now, sounding closer to how he was just before he fell asleep. It was out of place and wrong, wrong, _ wrong _, to be hearing in his ear when Daichi’s face was on the television under a column of people labelled ‘TRAPPED.’ 

He pushed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes and took a shaky breath. “It—” He stopped to clear his throat, then started again. “It was pretty quiet. All of our tests are running on schedule and we should see results by Tuesday. Yaku thinks it’ll be another flop, but I think he’s just being a contrary little shit to spite me.”

Daichi hummed in amusement then coughed, a wet, rattling sound chased by a groan that Tetsurou could tell was held back. “What else?” 

“I made you supper, Dai. Your favourite. Not ramen, the other one. I got the recipe from your mom.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, so you have to come home, okay? You have to—” He pressed against his eyelids harder, clearing his throat again to fight back the rising tears. “You have to tell me if I made it right, okay?”

“Tetsu—” There was another cough, several more laboured, heart-clenching breaths, and a moment of silence before: “I’m sure it’s great. You made it, after all.” 

“Don’t say that, you liar. You know I can’t cook for shit.” He tried to smile. He really did. “I got the recipe, though. From your mom. But I told you that already… Daichi? Daichi, are you still there?” 

Tetsurou pulled the phone away from his ear quickly, making sure the call hadn’t been dropped before returning it, listening as closely as he could. He could still hear the water—whatever had pooled at the bottom of the elevator shaft, he assumed—and the distant sound of rubble being broken. The rescue team had to be getting close. He could feel his heart dropping, cold and heavy with disbelief, when he heard Daichi take a breath. 

“Tetsu?” 

“I’m here, Dai. I’m not going anywhere, so don’t you be going anywhere, either, okay?” His hands couldn’t stop shaking. He clutched the front of his shirt, gathered the material tight in his fist like it would be enough to hold the pieces of his splintering heart together. 

“Love you, Tetsu…” 

His eyes burned, a choked sob followed by tears warming his face despite the chill at his core. “I love you, too, Daichi. I love you so, so much.”

“Say it again?” 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeated between sobs, listening, heart in his hand, as Daichi’s breathing grew faint. 

There was a small, pleased hum on the other end of the line, sounding distant like the phone had been pulled away from Daichi’s ear, a splash, and then nothing. 

The call dropped, Daichi’s breathing replaced by the droning dial tone. 

Numbly, Tetsurou pulled the phone away from his ear, staring down at the tear-distorted image of his sleeping husband. In front of him, the reporter was telling the camera how rescue personnel made contact with the elevator cabin, his voice impersonal and detached. The reporter had no idea how many worlds—how Tetsurou’s world—ended with the careening force of a crashed elevator. Had no idea, or just didn’t care. 

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen to his knees, any pain from the impact inferior to the constricting in his heart and throat, and he watched—couldn’t look away—as so many stretchers with long black bags were guided out of the front door. 

_ “With eleven dead, three critically injured and two with minor injuries, officials will be investigating the causes behind this tragic accident. We’ll report updates as they’re given.” _

Tetsurou watched the reporter sign off with a sombre expression before looking down to his phone, slowly tapping on the voicemail. 

_ “Hey, Tetsu. I know, I know, I’m going to be a bit late tonight. I got caught up chatting with that new intern I was telling you about. Yachi? She’s Kenma’s neighbour! Small world, huh? Anyways, I’ll be home as soon as I can. God, am I ever looking forward to a quiet night in with you. Love you, see you soon! Oh, hold the elevator—" _

Outside, the rain fell harder than before. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Listen. _Listen._ ... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
